The French Connection
by Petunias
Summary: Nothing is harder than maintaining a relationship in the midst of assassinations, the drug trade and being hunted by international crime lords. Slightly AU 1950s setting. fem!spy/sniper, rating will go up with future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Italicized dialogue is to be read as French. Just a head's up. Disclaimer: I do not own Valve, Team Fortress 2 or any of their copyrighted characters, content, etc. Enjoy!**_

"_Just follow my lead, do not talk unless spoken to and do exactly as I say. Understood?"_ Christophe stopped me just a few steps outside the restaurant's entrance, forcing me to look him in the eye. We were to meet one of Papa's distributors to talk pricing. A simple transaction of words, but Christophe thought otherwise.

"_We've gone over this a thousand times Chris, stop worrying,"_ I scoffed at him, making my way to the front doors, but he grabbed my arm and forcefully tugged me back to his side. I winced slightly and gave him a cautious stare. His hardened face told me he didn't want to play games today.

"_I worry because if something goes wrong, your father will hang me with the linens,_" he released his vice grip on me to brush some invisible dust from his shoulders and flatten the darkened tuft of hair on his head. I followed his lead and adjusted my headscarf.

He did have an excuse to be concerned. This was my first time 'in the field'. I was to simply observe and listen to what was said. Part of the _grooming_ process I assumed. But all the same, I was a liability and an extra body to protect if things went sour. My breath hitched slightly at the thought, but I quickly shook my head. Chris was here. Nothing would happen. I was just thinking this way because it was my first meeting.

I gave him a small nod of understanding before we turned back to our destination. The instant he opened the door, my nostrils were bombarded by a plethora of spices and a warm breeze wrapped itself around me. We stepped into a somewhat confined sand-colored room. Vibrant carpets lined the walls of the restaurant and a four-man band sat in the back playing a melodious Arabic song on stringed instruments and a drum. It felt like we had been transported from the bustling streets of Marseille to a little café on the Bay of Tangier. We scanned the half-full restaurant for our rendezvous. We were spotted first, for a barrel-chested, jolly-looking fellow jumped up from his seat and quickly rushed to greet us.

"Christophe," The man took Chris's hand in his and planted two kisses on each of his cheeks. On first glance this man's joviality clashed with his neatly trimmed black beard, slicked back hair and sharply fitted grey suit. Like he hid a more serious motive underneath his friendly airs.

"It's wonderful to see you, Malik." Chris responded with a lukewarm greeting before turning to me. "May I introduce you to monsieur Frenier's daughter, Mademoiselle Maureen."

"It iz a pleazure to meet you, monsieur." I offered Malik my hand and he deftly placed a kiss on my fingers.

"I've heard much about you from your father. The photos he has shown me do your beauty no justice." The kiss along with his silky Persian accent forced a blush to my face. My reaction elicited a small predatory grin from him, flustering me further. These gestures didn't go unnoticed by Christophe, and he simply pursed his lips. "Please, come sit. We have much to talk about." We joined Malik around his circular table surrounded by low-seated whicker stools. I flattened the folds in my navy dress after sitting and clasped my hands together.

"Before we be—"

"Would you like some coffee? Wine? The owner stocks a fine red from Spain." Malik waved over a waiter.

Chris cocked an eyebrow. "Offering Spanish wine to a Frenchman? Malik, you insult me," he chuckled.

Malik chuckled as well. "What about you, my dear? Would you like some wine?" I perked up at this. I could feel my face getting hot again as I looked over to Chris for his approval. I hated having to ask adults for a glass of wine. It was humiliating. "You don't need permission from that old _salak_." Malik winked at me and directed his attention to the waiter, ordering our drinks in Arabic. I needed to get my blushing under control because Chris, once again, pursed his lips and gave a small sigh.

The next half hour went on in this manner. Malik derailing the conversation from the price negotiation, slipping me small tokens of flirtation when he could get away with it and Christophe attempting to hide his annoyance as best he could. On the last sip of my wine I looked over to Chris' glass. He had barely touched his. I gulped down what was in my mouth and placed the glass back on the table. My curiosity quickly dissipated as I went back to laughing at Malik's joke.

"So the Greek finds that his bottle of Retsina was unharmed in the car crash and exclaims to the Turk, "truly it is a sign from God that we were meant to meet if this wine was unscathed by the accident.' He offers the wine to the Turk who happily takes a few big swigs and hands it back to the Greek. The Greek puts the cork back in the bottle and hands it back to the Turk. The Turk asks, 'will you not have some?' the Greek replies, 'no, I think I'll wait for the police!'" He ended with a bellow of laughter.

"What police? Zhey were in Bulgaria!" I chimed in with a tipsy giggle. He let out another roar and slapped his knee. We were attracting a few distasteful looks from other diners, but I didn't care. The mood was cheery and my ribs were sore from Malik's jokes. Chris on the other hand looked as though he were on the edge of bursting.

A waiter hurried over to our table and spoke to Malik in a hushed tone. He frowned at whatever the waiter was telling him and spoke harshly in Arabic before letting out a loud sigh. "Please, excuse me. I'm told I have a call waiting for me." He left the table, following the waiter down a small hallway.

I was still smiling, blissfully unaware of Chris' sullen countenance staring me down. I turned my head to look at him and my grin melted. _"What?"_

"_Did it ever occur to you why this man makes as many jokes as he does, offers you wine and flirts with you? He's practically buttering you up like a Christmas goose."_ He spoke in a low but threatening voice. My head almost fell into my lap. He was taking a while to speak again, trying to pick his words carefully _"As the daughter of Marco Frenier, your every action is scrutinized. You're seen as the heir of your father's empire, and they will judge whether you're a suitable successor. If you can't take yourself serious, they certainly won't either."_

My gut clenched from his words and I couldn't bear to make eye contact with him. I was just trying to have a little fun. I didn't know what to expect with this whole 'transaction' deal. Papa had only mentioned they were done in cafes or over dinner, so I just assumed the atmosphere would be lighthearted. I flattened the folds in my dress once more, anxiously waiting for Malik to return and break the tension.

As we waited, I noticed a quick flash of light in my periphery. I looked beyond the restaurant window in front of me for the offensive glare. The building across the street had an assortment of open and closed bay windows, each fitted with a flower box full of red poppies. I internally smirked at the sardonic plants.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," Malik said as he sat back down at the table. He looked me once over and immediately took note of my dampened mood. "I believe we have some figures to discuss."

"Yes, we do." Chris pulled out a folded piece of paper from his suit pocket and slid it across the table. Malik didn't miss a beat to pick it up and unfold its contents. He gave a small scoff at what was written and shook his head.

"This would be doable if you were also supplying the boats to pick up your merchandise. But you are not." Malik took a sip from his wine, keeping his gaze fixed on Chris. "Raise it thirty percent and we have a deal."

"That's hardly fair for the amount. I'll raise it five percent." I looked back and forth between the two. It turned into a staring match that neither seemed willing to lose. Finally Malik gave a small laugh and broke his gaze.

"Oh Christophe, how we dance this dance every season," He took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He offered one to both of us. We both declined. "Ten percent."

Chris paused in thought before replying. "We'll await your boats in a week's time then." The two men shook on the deal and Malik sat back on his stool, allowing the flames of his lighter to lap at the tip of his cigarette.

That's when two things happened. I heard a small sound of glass being chipped. It was succinct and it slightly startled me. Following the sounds was something hot splashing onto my cheek. I didn't register what was happening until I looked at Malik. The cigarette hung limply from his lower lip, his mouth slightly parted. He was looking at me, but his eyes were unfocused. And jutting out of his neck was a _balle_-sized hole. It took a second before blood began pulsing from the wound and soaking into his suit. A gurgling noise left his mouth, but only more blood bubbled out, staining his teeth.

The sounds around me ceased to exist and all that filled my ears was my slowed pulse and stunted breathing. A hand grabbed my shoulder and forced me from my chair. I silently obeyed and followed whomever it was, my feet working of there own accord. Before I was pulled down a hallway I glanced at the restaurant window and the building beyond it. A similar size hole decorated the window. The poppies still swayed in their flowerboxes but I saw something metallic snake its way back into one of the rooms.

_Fourth Floor._

Time and chaos finally began to speed up. A woman's blood-curdling scream was followed by other diner's yells of shock and confusion. I felt my back being pushed up against a wall. My heart decided to start beating at an exponentially faster rate and my breath quickened as well, making me slightly dizzy. The hallway was dimly lit and looked like it led to the kitchens. I couldn't remember how I had gotten there. Then Chris was in front of me checking my body.

"_Were you hit?"_ he asked frantically while turning me from side to side. His fingers traced a tear in the fabric of my jacket just above my elbow. Thankfully the bullet hadn't pierced my skin. I took this time to touch what was on my face. Some part of me was praying it wasn't what I thought it was, but my fingers met the gooey wetness and made bile rise into my throat. _"Stay here. I'm calling your father."_ With that he sprinted out of the hall, almost knocking over someone in the process.

I closed my eyes and forced my breathing back to normal. _In, and out,_ I kept telling myself. _In, and out_.

_Fourth floor._

"_No, no,"_ I repeated to myself. My feet twitched and I hopped back and forth on them. I couldn't do what I was thinking of doing. My stomach was flip-flopping just at the thought.

_Fourth floor, third window from the left._

My eyes started to water and I took a sleeve of my jacket to my face to wipe the tears away. When I pulled the sleeve back I saw the blood and thicker bits of flesh from my cheek smeared all over it, just making me feel more nauseous.

_Fourth floor, third window from the left. You could still catch him._

Even if it was just to get a small glimpse of the man who did this. I could describe him to Papa and they'd catch him. I'd be helpful for once.

_He's going to get away._

"Merde!" Before I could convince myself that this was the most idiotic, suicidal decision I bolted out of the hall, past the dead body and out onto the street. I quickly went through the doors of the poppy riddled building to see it was a hotel. A few guests looked up from their business at my sudden entrance and gasped at the gore on my jacket. I ignored them, running through the reception to a staircase and made my ascent. My heart was about to explode and my lungs were in a vice grip. _Should I just wait near the room he was in? No, he's seen what I look like. Christ, what am I doing?_ I rounded a corner close to the second floor and slammed into a tall figure in front of me.

* * *

The tip-off that Malik Şahin would be at _les tangine_ café wasn't false. I loved disgruntled colleagues for the sole reason that they easily slipped up and gave away vital information to their foreign 'drinking buddy', i.e. me. I ought to feel bad for the dumb sods, but it's their own damn fault for ratting out the boss' son. So I don't sympathize when they're hanging by their ankles and being skinned alive in someone's slaughterhouse.

I flipped up the clasps to my suitcase and opened the lid. Inside my disassembled rifle laid snuggly on grey foam. I let a small smile play on my face and a wave of relief washed over me. This was the furthest I had traveled from home on my own and my first job without Pete by my side. I'd be lying to myself if I said I wasn't nervous. But all my worries seem to disappear when I had my rifle in hand. It's a security blanket of sorts. With the target's location set and my room across from the café booked, it was all down to playing the waiting game. It was a game I was rather good at.

I set to work assembling my gun, keeping my eye on the restaurant below looking for any signs of the Turk. An hour went by with no signs of his arrival. I was checking my watch every five minutes at this point and flexing my hands. _This had to be the right place,_ I thought to myself. Another thirty minutes went by and my bladder was on the verge of bursting. _Knowing my luck, he'll show up when I'm in the loo._ Not long after I stood up a black Citroen pulled up outside the café and a sharply dressed man with slick black hair stepped out of the passenger side. I pulled the mug shot out of my pocket and compared the faces. "Looks like we have a winner." My bladder decided that moment was the perfect time to double me over. _Damn French coffee. _I looked back and forth from the man now entering the café to the taunting bathroom door. "Ah shit," I said as I left my post near the window. When done with my business I came back out to see Malik was now accompanied by a gentleman who looked to be in his early thirties and…

"What the hell's a Sheila doin' here?" Well this was unexpected. My target was sitting with his back to me but the angle was nothing short of awful. Any headshot would have risked hitting her as well. Normally this wouldn't bother me, but I'd never shot a girl before. She was young too, maybe a couple years younger than myself. She looked anxious to be there, what with all the nervous tics like wringing her hands and fiddling with her dress. _Could be a prostitute?_ No, too conservative of a dress; and she was too nervous for that matter. Through my scope I watched as she slowly relaxed, drinking any wine she was offered and laughing at something funny the Turk was saying. I had to admit her smile was nice. "But you're still in the way, luv," I muttered.

At some point the Turk stood up and left the table. I panicked for a second, thinking he was leaving for good, but the other two remained seated. I repositioned myself to get a better angle, but something on my rifle caught the reflection of the sun. Next thing I knew the girl was looking straight at my window. I reacted in time to duck behind the wall and lower my rifle. A lump gathered in my throat and I waited ages before peeking around the corner. She was looking down at her dress with a dampened expression, but no indication that she saw me. I breathed a sigh of relief before setting up my position again.

The Turk returned to the table and it seemed their meeting was just starting to wrap up. My body broke into a sweat with fear that I would never get the shot. He shook hands with the other gentleman and did what I had been waiting for a whole hour. He leaned back, his neck out of line from the girl.

_Small breath in._

_Breathe out slowly._

_Hold._

_Click._

_BANG._

_Right through the Jugular._

A beat after the shot was fired I was breaking down my gun and placing the parts back in its case. Repetition and practiced speed made these actions a blur. My record for full disassembly was currently 14 seconds, but I was fumbling slightly from nerves. The next step in a job such as this was never my favorite. The running. Getting to another safe location before you're spotted.

I shut the clasps on the case and dashed for the front door. Once in the hallway I stalled to find the door to the back stairwell. I ran down a back hallway to the stairs and started the descent. I was skipping steps in my frantic dash for the ground exit. When I rounded a corner too fast I slammed into a person on the second floor. I quickly grabbed their arm to keep them from falling, apologizing profusely the entire time.

I tried to maneuver past them, but when I let go of their sleeve, I felt a slimy wetness cling to my fingers. I looked down at it. _Blood?_ My gaze shot up and I realized it was her. Her face was flushed and she was panting heavily. Blood was smeared on her cheek, and her brown hair was disheveled and falling out of a bun under her headscarf. Her stare went to my case and some sliver of realization crossed her face. She looked back at me with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

"C'est vous?" she blurted as she furrowed her brows in confusion. I made a move to go around her, but she blocked the way with her body. "Était-ce vous?" She looked absolutely…

* * *

…Terrified. And he couldn't be much older than me. I didn't know what to expect but it certainly wasn't this. He was….lanky. Lanky, with short brown shaggy hair and moving out of that awkward pimply teenage look every boy seemed to have and maturing into a more adult guise.

He wasn't responding to my yells, but when he tried to pass me again, I threw my body in front of him. _What the hell am I doing?_ He seemed to be thinking the same thing for his expression turned to confusion, then frustration.

"Move," he growled. My body was refusing to respond. I was shaking, but I stood my ground.

"Non." I said defiantly. We both stood there a few seconds eyeing each other over.

"I don't want to hurt ya," he spoke in a lower tone. His accent was British. No. Australian?

My body was still unable to un-root itself, so I resorted to yelling at him again. _"you're a bastard."_ I was thankful he didn't seem to understand French, but he was getting irate all the same.

"Bloody 'ell. I didn't want to do this." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a switchblade, pointing the tip directly at my throat. I stopped breathing and felt the blood drain from me. I cursed at myself for leaving my own knife in my purse back at the restaurant. It wouldn't have mattered though. I wasn't going to put up a fight with that thing pointed right at me.

* * *

It was a pathetic excuse for a knife. I'd have preferred my machete or kukri, but this little poker was the only thing I could slip through security without being asked a hundred questions. It didn't matter, since it appeared I finally held the girl's undivided attention. I gestured with the knife for her to step aside. She waited a pregnant pause before slowly backing into the corner, her hands slightly raised in a gesture of surrender and not taking her eyes off my knife.

I didn't hesitate to run past her and down the remaining steps, pushing past the exit and sprinting down the back alley. The coast looked clear, so I started my trek down the main streets to another hideout.

* * *

I mentally kicked myself for how stupid I was acting. What was I hoping to accomplish? Get on Chris' good side? Show Papa I was ready for tougher jobs? I was clinging onto false hope at this point, but I also refused to give up. _You stupid girl._

I waited a few seconds to hear the click of the exit door slide back into place before I followed his lead and ran into the back alley. I barely caught sight of his back as he slipped out of view around a corner. I jogged over to the street he turned onto and peeked around the corner of the building. He had disappeared into thin air. My head fell slightly. _There's no point chasing him now_. I slowly turned around and began my slow trudge of shame back to the restaurant.

"_Chris is going to murder me."_

_**A/N: Terribly sorry if there are any glaring typos, grammar errors or issues with tense. I tried my best to proofread the chapter myself. If anyone would like to be my beta reader I'd love you forever! The cover is by arnaudornik (look him up on Tumblr!) called The Urban Sniper.**_


	2. Chapter 2

I was leaning over the bathroom sink splashing water on my face when I heard a scraping noise over the wooden floor of my new hotel room. I spun around, scrambling to open my switchblade. My heart was pumping furiously, preparing for an attack. When I caught sight of a folded note lying innocently in front of my hotel door. I stiffened.

My nerves were still on edge from that afternoon. Every creak of the floorboards startled me senseless. I couldn't go across the street for a bite to eat without looking over my shoulder every ten seconds. I even dove to the floor when a child yelled to his mates outside my window. I'm glad I hadn't done that in public. I must have looked absolutely ridiculous. Saying I was spooked was a major understatement. And now I'd been sent a mystery note from someone who probably knew who I was and what I had done. Just brilliant. _No, if they knew who you were, they wouldn't muck about. They'd have killed you by now._

Nevertheless, my movements were calculated, making sure not to disturb the floorboards when I walked towards the note. _They could still be outside my door. Waiting. _I stopped in my tracks and rethought my movements. My gun was lying on the kitchenette table cleaned, assembled and ready for action. I left the note untouched, going for my rifle instead. Still taking small, light steps I made my way to the door pressing against the wall as I fumbled with the lock.

With shaking hands and breath caught in my throat, I swung the door open and pointed the barrel out into the hall. I craned my neck to better see the ends of the hallway. Not a soul in sight. Baffled, I closed the door and looked down at the note once more. _What the hell is going on?_ I dipped down to pick it up and unfolded it:

_Burn after reading. You are not safe here. Check out of your room and meet me outside the bar at the end of this street in ten minutes. _

_The girl in the stairwell._

Her again? What game was she playing? I stalked over to the window and scanned the street for any sign of her. There were kids playing and a few men walking home from work. I squinted in the direction of the setting sun and noticed the silhouette of a woman in a dress. She stopped and turned in my direction then continued to walk away at a fast pace. I ducked back into the room and re-read the letter.

"Wot the hell is your deal?" I muttered to myself. I jammed a hand into my pocket and took out my lighter. I flicked it a few times and watched as the paper curled under the flames.

* * *

My hands were becoming clammy and my stomach tied itself into knots as I sat at one of the outside tables, sipping the wine I ordered. It wasn't like I was waiting for a date to arrive, but the signs of my body slipping into a panicked fever made me feel like I was. No, this was worse than a date. If Papa or Christophe caught on to what I was doing, well, I had no idea what the consequences would be, but I certainly didn't want to find out.

...

"_Chris is going to murder me," I said weakly. What I had just done was beyond stupid and reckless. The boy could have used his knife on me. There was nothing stopping him from slitting my throat to silence me and leave no witnesses. I could be bleeding out on the stairs right now. "But I'm not." I stopped myself and thought on this a bit. He resorted to his knife because I was being stubborn and not moving out of the way. He even said himself; he didn't want to hurt me. And that look in his eyes…_

_For an assassin, he was young. And you could tell in his expression, he was extremely inexperienced. He wasn't expecting a confrontation. He had done his job and just wanted to leave the vicinity as soon as humanly possible. "His job was to kill someone." I had to keep reminding myself. _

_I opened the door to the back stairwell and started my ascent to the fourth floor. Once there, I gained my bearings as to which side of the hotel faced the café and walked down the long hallway. Counting the rooms I came across the third from the end. "419," I repeated to myself. I took the elevator down, wanting to give my legs a rest. The pandemonium that was the last few minutes began catching up to me and an exhausted ache seeped into my bones. As the elevator reached the ground floor, I remembered the shocked looks of the hotel guests when seeing the blood on my jacket. I hastily took it off, using the clean sleeve to wipe the remaining blood off my face and folded it over my arm. There were still a few dark flecks on my dress, but barely noticeable. Just for safe measure, I took off my headscarf and let my hair fall over my shoulders. I kept my head low as I walked over to the reception. No one seemed to notice or care I was the same girl who had just run through with bits of person on her. Good._

_A young chipper man in a concierge's uniform greeted me and asked if I had booked a room. "Oh, I'm already checked in. I just need an extra towel." I smiled politely at him. He bowed and walked into a back room. I quickly grabbed the ledger book that sat on top of the counter and swung it around to face me. I skimmed the line of room numbers for 419 and read over the name written next to it. 'Matthew Lowell'. Probably made up. Before the concierge could emerge from the back room I was out the front door and making my way back to the café. _

_I had a name—well probably a fake name—and a face. Pleased with my detective work, I walked back into the café with a small boost of confidence. The mellow atmosphere had completely evaporated, leaving empty dread to linger in the air. The police had arrived and were talking to the diners who had witnessed the attack. Seeing Malik's body covered by a tablecloth gave me the chills. _

"_MAUREEN!" Chris' voice boomed over the dull chatter. The room went silent and all eyes locked onto his fuming figure. His face had reached an unnaturally dark shade of red and he was foaming at the mouth. I had never felt so small in my entire life as he advanced towards me with a look to kill. I should have prepared myself better for the onslaught I was about to receive. "What the… why di—…where the hell did you go!?" he finally stammered, spittle flying onto my face._

"_I—I'm sorry," was all I could coax from my lips. I felt worse than a child being scolded for tracking mud into the house. Barely making eye contact with him I tried to speak further. "I wanted to track down the shoot—"_

"_ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?" his right hand went above his head, gesturing to hit me. My arms reflexively went up to my face, shielding any blow he might strike. "Are you trying to get yourself killed!?"_

"_Please Chris! I'm so sorry! I know it was stupid to run off!" I waited for what felt like hours readying myself for a blow to the head, stomach, anywhere. But it never came. I sheepishly looked past my arms to see his back turned to me. He was taking deep breaths while clenching and unclenching his fists. A couple of the police looked between us with concern but didn't move to interfere. Other witnesses just looked away in embarrassment. It took most of my willpower to walk up to him and place a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "I just wanted to do something right."_

_He spun around and grabbed my shoulders. He stared me down with such an intense rush of emotions. "You can't run off like that _mon lapin_," he whispered harshly, pulling me into a crushing hug and kissing the top of my head. "Please don't ever do that again." I gently hugged him back, a bit surprised by his sudden show of affection. _

"_I won't," I replied guiltily. _

_He released me with a great sigh. "I don't suppose you saw him?" I was just about to open my mouth when a deeper more commanding voice filled the room. _

"_Christophe." We turned to face the daunting figure of my father. His hands were clasped behind his back and posture straight as could be. His meticulous grooming from his smooth face to short parted black hair accentuated the sharp look in his eyes. His age was showing in the grey hairs creeping into his short sideburns and slight forming of crow's feet. Someone once told me he reminded them of a tiger; he could kill you in cold-blood and look charming while doing so. _

_The police only had to glance at him once to know not to bother our little party. "Explain everything that happened," my father continued. _

_Chris took a moment to compose his person before starting a long-winded explanation on the bullet entry and angle at which it was shot. He knelt near the corpse drawing an imaginary line from the neck and ended with pointing to the hole in the window. "It was a tight shot, I'll give him that." He looked from the stool I had been sitting on to the body and then glanced up to me. "And he made sure you were out of the line of trajectory." I was taken aback by this news. He didn't want to shoot me? My ears turned slightly pink at this. Neither my father nor Chris seemed to notice and continued their conversation. My father was acting rather apathetic to the news that my life was potentially threatened. It was more than a little disheartening. _

"_Did you see him?" My father asked Chris coolly. Chris gave me an inquisitive look and I shrugged in response. "Am I not being told something?" My gaze shot up to my father's; his expression was still unreadable nevertheless unsettling._

"_I…" My words were stuck in my throat as his steel grey eyes bore into mine. I wanted to ask him what he would do to the boy. I knew death was in the cards, but my father was known for his cruelty among enemies. My mind flashed to one night long ago when I stumbled upon my father in the basement of our house. I was little at the time and when I heard a curious noise, I didn't hesitate to investigate. My father greeted me at the foot of the steps, patted me on the head and told me to go back to bed. But before I left I caught sight of a man strapped to a chair. He was gagged, bleeding from a large gash in his forehead and had a web of black bruises and lacerations on his bare chest. He pleaded to me with his eyes that I would go tell someone before he was blocked from my vision by my father's brooding form. I knew that wasn't the first man my father had tortured and certainly wasn't the last. _

_My thoughts went back to the boy's frightened eyes. _Are you really going to hand him over to your father to have killed? The boy who spared you on two occasions?_ A small part of me thought. I mulled over this, but kept reminding myself that he killed Malik. _That's not necessarily a bad thing. Remember what Chris said about appearances. You could start fresh with Malik disposed of. _I paled at my disturbing train of thought._

"_Maureen?" I was snapped back to the present by my father's voice. He was still looking at me with uninterested eyes. Though they appeared to be indifferent, I knew he was calculating every change in my movements, down to how many times I blinked or how fast I was breathing. I'd have to play this off smoothly if I didn't want him catching on._

"_Sorry Papa, I'm still shaken up a bit." I took in a deep breath, "I tried to run after him." His expression didn't change. _

"_And did you see him?" Time to shine. I put on a disappointed but slightly sheepish look and shook my head._

"_He wasn't in the hotel by the time I reached it." My lie seemed to be working, "I'm sorry Papa. I know I should have stayed here in the café." I looked down forlornly, waiting and praying that my father would accept my answer._

_After a time, I felt his hand on my shoulder. He gave it a gentle squeeze. "You did what you thought was right at the time." I looked up at him with genuine happiness. He hadn't yelled at me! But his face was still solemn. "But you need to be more careful. You disobeyed Chris and put yourself in danger. Don't be that reckless again." I nodded my head, mentally patting myself on the back for avoiding further punishment._

_He turned back to Christophe. "Inform __Şahin's__ men that we'll send out a hunting party." A lump formed in my throat. Christ, not the hunting party. That kid wouldn't last the night before they found him. "And notify les flics to set up checkpoints at the docks and train station. Anyone suspicious is to be interrogated." Chris nodded his head in understanding and left the café without so much as a glance in my direction. I felt a twinge of guilt as the doors closed behind him._

_My father looked down to me and waved in the direction of the black limousine waiting outside for us. "Shall we?"_

_..._

I was ticking off the seconds in my head. Surely ten minutes had passed by now. I had abandoned my wine by this point, stomach too queasy from anxiety. My finger began tapping the table to the seconds. It was all I could do to stop myself from leaving the bar. I placed my head in my other hand and closed my eyes. _Give him two more minutes._ If he didn't show up in that time I'd convince myself that he didn't want my help and that I should just walk away from this whole messy situation.

I heard the sound of a suitcase and duffel bag hitting the ground with a resonating clunk, followed by a body plopping down into the chair across from me. An iron fist was squeezing and stretching my stomach. I took my time raising my eyes to meet his. His arms were crossed over his chest and he wore an impatient stare. He still had on the same clothes as before, a light blue button-down shirt with blue jeans, but was now sporting a pair of orange tinted aviators. His air of annoyance severely contrasted my fidgeting nervous state. _God be with me. _I grabbed my wine glass and chugged the rest of its contents before standing up. "Come on," I said.

"Now just wait one second," he leaned forward in his chair. "I want some answers first."

"And you'll get them as we walk. It iz safer to do so." I planted my hands on my hips. I was not going to argue. Not with my father's men possibly in the area. His stubborn glare only lasted a few seconds before he grumbled something under his breath and picked up his bags. When he was on his feet I couldn't help but gawk at how tall he was. I knew I was petit, but even with my high heels on my eyes were barely level with his shoulders. I gestured down the street. "This way."

* * *

The first minute of our walk was filled with an awkward silence that refused to break. "So," she started. "You must have a hundred questions you'd like to ask, non?" She looked over her shoulder at me. I kept my eyes to the ground and grinded my teeth. Oh I had questions all right; I just didn't know where to start. "Come now, you were so eager for explanations just a minute ago."

"Give me a sec, would ya?" I snapped. She huffed and directed her attention in front of us once more. It irked me that this girl seemed to pop up out of nowhere and just _know_ where I was going to be. I thought I had picked a hotel far enough away from the assassination sight. And it wasn't like I was attracting unnecessary attention to myself. Well, aside from looking like a paranoid loony.

"How did you find me? _Again?_" She straightened at this and gave a sly smile.

"You made a rookie mistake." I frowned at her response.

"And what was that?"

"Never use the same fake name twice, monsieur _Lowell_. It only took me a few phone calls to find where you were staying." _Well shit._ "You're extremely lucky I found you before my father's men."

"Don't tell me you're related to that Şahin fella I killed." That would have made matters so much worse.

"Non. My father iz Marco Frenier," she said with an air of pride. I considered this for a bit.

"Then why the hell does your father want me dead? I didn't kill any of _his_ men." She put a hand to her face as if to ponder the question.

"The man you killed was the son of a prominent opium dealer in Turkey, Arif Şahin."

"I knew that much," I scoffed. "But it still doesn't explain why _your_ dad wants my head on a pike."

"My father likes to demonstrate loyalty to those he deems good business partners. Apparently he considers Arif a good business partner." I could tell she had picked her words carefully, making sure not to give too much information away. We walked on in silence for a bit more.

I was left with the one question that had been nagging at me since I received her note. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" she asked innocently.

"Don't play dumb," I almost bumped into the back of her as she came to a complete stop. She turned on her heel to look me square on. "You have no reason to help me," I added.

What I said didn't seem to faze her for she just kept staring up at me with her steel grey eyes. "You spared my life. Twice. I'm repaying the favor." With that she turned back around and kept walking. My gut started to clench. Something just didn't feel right.

"Am I supposed to believe that?" She stopped once more, rolling her eyes at me.

"Yes," she said matter-of-factly. "Now can we please continue? It iz getting late and I need to be home soon." She started to walk off again, but wouldn't get far.

"How do I know you're not just luring me to your daddy's henchmen?" I gripped the handle to my gun case tightly. She spun around once more, but with much more flare and anger in her eyes.

"I would never," she snarled.

"Well you're giving me little reason to believe you."

"I give you my word," she pleaded with me. I let out a loud snort.

"Fat chance that's any good. You're the kid of a crime boss. You've obviously picked up some good spying tips and for all I know he's using you to bait me."

She was rooted to the spot, brows furrowed and mouthing something silent, unable to get the words out. "How _dare _you," she finally spat. If she was trying to look intimidating, it didn't work. She was just too adorable with her chubby cheeks and quivering lower lip. Reminded me of a chipmunk. I tried to stifle a giggle, but failed.

"Has anyone told you how cute you are when you're all riled up?"

This pissed her off nice and good, and before I could blink her fist made contact with the left side of my jaw.

"OW!" I stumbled back a few steps, clutching my face in surprise. It was a very weak punch, but I hadn't expected it. She was cradling her hand to her chest and cursing in French. Across the street a passing couple slowed their walk to watch us inquisitively. I massaged my jaw and shot her a quick look of concern.

"Uh, kid. Maybe we should do this somewhere else," I muttered.

"Shut up!" She snapped at me, eyes watering slightly. I was startled into silence. "Do you!—" she took a few deep breaths and began again in a shaky voice. "Do you realize what I'm sacrificing to help you? I lied to my father _and _my mentor to keep your identity safe. I lied to my father _even more_ as an excuse to leave the house and locate you before anyone else could. I even took the time to find you a new hide out. And you—" she poked my chest with an unharmed finger producing a grunt from me. "All you do is accuse me? And _mock_ me? Well listen here. I'll admit this plan izn't perfect, and I had to think fast. But, it was all in your best interest. You want the hunters to capture you? Torture you until you beg for death? _Fine by me_." She made sure to shoulder me roughly as she passed by and start marching in the direction we had just come from. She jammed her hands into her dress pockets, determined not to look back. Heated embarrassment crept up my neck and into my face.

_Well, you bollocksed that one up. Good job, Mundy_. I ran a few paces to catch up with her and placed a free hand on her shoulder. "Wait." She only shrugged it off and continued walking away. "I'm sorry." No reaction. I stopped where I was, desperate for the words to make her come back. She was right. What was I going to do without her help? She would know better than me where to hide. Sure she could have been lying, but that fit of hers was genuine. I had to take the chance.

"I need you." She slowed her pace and eventually stopped, but didn't turn around. "I know there's no way you can prove you're not fuckin' me over, and my life's in your hands." She turned her head slightly to listen. "I—I guess what I'm tryin' to say is, I need your help. And, I'll just have to trust you're doin' roight by me."

Her body slowly turned towards me, keeping her eyes on the ground. "You won't argue with me anymore?" It was more of a command than a question. I nodded my head. "And you'll do exactly as I say?" I nodded again. She sniffed. "And you won't laugh at me?"

I let out a small sigh of relief, "I promise." Her shoulders relaxed and she approached me slowly. Her eyes were still teary, but also determined "We need to hurry. It's getting late."

_**A/N: 'les flics' is French slang for the cops. You can thank Parov Stelar's albums Coco and The Princess for this whole chapter. That is all!**_


End file.
